Tag: creative writing

A collection of honest musings on the misadventures of life and love, “Fragmented Bliss” embarks readers on a journey to collapse in laughter and tears because that is how galaxies of memories are formed.

Review:

Rating : 4 stars

“People forget that people who can swim drown too”

I generally don’t read poetry collections as a whole, but I am glad I read this one. I was madly in love with B.J. Rosalind’s words from the very first page. Poems can be lyrical, extravagant, full of poetic devices like metaphors and paradoxes, but what struck me about these poems was the sheer honesty in them. It felt like each and every one of them came from the very soul.

None of the writings are very difficult to understand, they are straightforward and impactful, just how I prefer poems to be. I am of course not any expert in poetry, but I believe art is something you need to feel to understand, and I can’t tell you about the technicalities of the poems but I can tell you they made me feel.

My favorite part about the book was the uniqueness of each poem. Even though they are written by one person, the voices and stories felt different and you can see a lot of perspectives, so it is easier to relate to atleast one of them. A lot of the poems are also open-ended, you can interpret them in your own way.

Some of my favorite poems in the collection were Tangled, Elementary School, The Perfect Student, Inevitable, 6 reasons I hate attachments, Four Phases, To Young Girls, etc…… you get the picture? The whole book was pretty amazing, I think I bookmarked most of the pages.

Overall this is a very beautiful debut, and if you are interested in reading poetry or like reading the fantastic ones we see one Tumblr, you should surely give this book a go. I am looking forward to see more of this young author’s work in future.

***Some characters in this tale might be real but the feelings and events portrayed are PURELY fictional. Okay so maybe ALL the events aren’t fictional, but the feelings DEFINITELY are.***

I walk down the staircase with my friends, wondering where he is. He is supposed to have an extra class after school, so I assume he is in his classroom. But I can’t help but hope to catch a glimpse of him before the four-day holiday we’ll have this weekend. Just then, as I spring down the familiar grey stairs, I see him on the landing walking up, probably going back to his class. He must have gone downstairs to fetch water. As he walks up, neither of us look at each other. His usually arrogant but cheerful face is grave and serious and its obvious that he isn’t making eye-contact on purpose. He passes right by me although there is a lot of space in the wide staircase. My heart beats so loud that I can actually hear it. He is so uncharacteristically silent that it is ridiculous. My friend not-so-subtly clears her throat from behind us. He still keeps his head low, and my eyes are on the ground too, although I can see him from my peripheral vision. And suddenly, just like that, the moment is over. He has reached the above landing and taken the next flight of stairs, while I have proceeded to the one below. He is gone, and I won’t see him for the next four days. But I am left with a realization- although I never meant to, I’ve fallen, and I’ve fallen hard.

I wrote this on Friday evening, and for some reason its kind of freaking me out.

I’ve never been close enough to see the color of your eyes. Even after years of staring at you, admiring you from a distance, I don’t know the color of your eyes. All I know is that its somewhere in between black and brown, obviously, like most people of our race. But its always bugged me, not knowing. I know you have a mole on your right cheek (or was it left, I might have forgotten in a year). I know your hair is pitch black, and you seem to think that spikes look really cool on it. I know you have a scar on your left arm, a little above your wrist, where you’d broken it when you fell off a bicycle. But the color of your eyes? I guess it’ll always remain a mystery to me. Just like you.

My eyes are dark brown, so dark that they almost look black from a distance. My dad has light brown eyes and I wish I’d inherited those instead of this bland color that my mom shares as well. But I guess that’s just me. Bland. Not plain ugly maybe, but not noticeable, never noticeable, in a crowd either. I merge with the walls . I’m part of the furniture. I exist, but sometimes even I forget that I do. I merely observe with these dull brown eyes of mine. They want to say a lot, but end up chickening out and saying pretty useless stuff. Like me.

His eyes are also brown, but the best shade of it. Light brown, and when the sun reflects on them, they look almost like heaven. There have been moments when I’ve just stared into his eyes while he spoke in that carefree, lively way of his. His eyes are warm, inviting- as if inspite of his rude and spoilt-brat-ish behavior, he might actually be a soft person. They make me feel safe, but I’m not fooled. The most attractive things are usually the most dangerous. But I can’t help myself. Those eyes are too hypnotic. They try to entice me with their warmth and invitation and promise of…something like home. Just like him.

Every time I post a poem, its like freeing a piece of myself, I can’t put that feeling into appropriate words. But again, I’m never sure if it is good enough because I never really think about it too much before or after writing it. It takes me a complete day to convince myself to post a particular poem! So please, pardon my mistakes here..

Oh, and people who know me in real life, if you read this poem, NEVER mention it infront of me. Just read it and forget it. No questions. This poem might not mean what you think it means.